Blown
by bkppr1066
Summary: Summary: Maura's too observant. Jane has secrets. And down the slippery slope we go. Implied Rizzles. One-shot. Still working for a living, so I guess I don't own Rizzoli & Isles – Tess Garritsen and TNT do. Poo.
1. Chapter 1: Observations

_**A/N A short piece of fluff to distract from a long multi-chapter fic I'm working on. And the fact that I have to go back to work on Monday. And it's cold. And snowing. Blech. Wrote this in about 40 minutes, then spent another hour proofreading. I usually don't work this fast, thought I'd try to. PLEASE review!**_

_**Well, this has grown, hasn't it? Chapter 4 is almost complete - parts 1-3 are up! I reiterate - PLEASE review!.**_

"Maura."

She looks up from the paperwork in front of her. Her face is immobile. "Yes Jane? I'm rather busy."

"What's your problem?"

Maura looks back at the paper in front of her dashes off her signature. "What makes you think I have a problem?"

"What makes me...Maura you've been...like _this_...for three days!"

"Like what?"

"Hostile, distant, cold...angry. You face shows it. You're mad. And you're mad at _me_, because you aren't treating anyone else this way. What'd I do?"

Maura stands, places the tips of her fingers on the desktop, holds her head down as she thinks it over. Then she comes out from behind the desk, with a look on her face and in her eyes that makes Jane Rizzoli, toughest detective in homicide, step back.

She stands a foot from Jane, her arms folded, one foot slightly extended, her weight on her back foot. The glare might just melt Jane into a puddle if she sustains it long enough.

"When were you going to tell me you were gay?"

Jane's jaw drops. Her eyes dull as if she's been hit on the head. She flaps her mouth like a grounded fish, but before he can verbalize, Maura presses on. Relentlessly.

"How long have you been attracted to women?"

All Jane's protests, her defensive perimeter collapses. She drops her eyes. "Forever."

"And you had no intention of telling me this?"

"I..." Jane pauses. Deflects. "How'd you know?"

"I was at Flanagans Saturday night."

"Flana...oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

"But you hate Flanagans."

"Normally, yes. I'm not a fan of pub food. But I had a conference at MIT all day and someone suggested it for dinner, so several of us went there. It was noisy and crowded. And as I was weaving through the crowd to our table, whom should I see but Jane Rizzoli, at a table in the corner, with a fashion-model blonde dinner companion. You were laughing, flirting, the life of the party. And before I sat down and lost sight of you, you kissed that woman. And it was no sweet little peck, either. You were ready to...to _fuck_ her, right there on that table, dishes and all. Needless to say I had no appetite for the rest of the evening."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to see that. I never wanted you to see anything like that."

"So...I'm you're best friend. You say. You were going to hide something so important from me? I'm appalled at your lack of trust, Jane."

"Maura...please..."

"I don't want to hear it."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"You're going to make excuses."

"I want to explain."

"Explain? Explain how you've known me for five years, we've been as physically and emotionally close as friends can be, and you've never even considered me as a romantic partner? How many bimbos like that...person have you gone chasing after, Jane? And I've been _right here_, in front of you all this time?"

"A few. I don't know." Jane sits down on the uncomfortable designer chair, not meeting Maura's eyes. Maura softens enough to sit near her on the couch.

"All right. Explain. If you want to. Or don't."

"Maura I've never seen you so angry. Not since..."

"What am I supposed to feel, when I'm on the verge of having my heart broken?"

"What do you...?"

Maura waved a hand. "Oh, just say your say."

"I've known I was gay since...oh, I started noticing girls at the same age most girls start noticing boys. All my fantasies were about girls. There were so many times I wanted to ask one of the girls in high school out...I'm glad I was smarter than I was horny, or I would have been in real trouble. I almost did get in trouble when a girl I was seeing – secretly – threatened to turn me in to the priest when she and I broke up. I never heard anything from anybody, so I guess she figured that if she ratted me out she'd get in trouble herself.

"Nobody knows. Not Ma, Frankie...nobody. No one at work. Only the women I go out with. Sleep with. And none of then last more than a few weeks." She paused. "And now you. You've blown my cover."

"But why did you keep it from me? I wouldn't judge you."

I know that. But, look, you appreciate logic. It breaks down to two outcomes. First, you're straight, and then I'd have no hope with you; or you're gay, and that means I might try but...damn, Maura, you're really above my pay grade."

Maura looks quizzical. "I don't understand."

"Look at you. Totally pissed off, and yet not a hair out of place. You're stunning. You're a f...you're a genius. You're rich. You're incredibly competent at what you do. You're probably amazing in the sack. You're so far out of my league that we don't even play the same game. So even if you were gay, we could never..."

"Wait Jane, wait. It sounds like...it sounds like you're giving me reasons why you feel you can't...date me? Have a relationship? Where did that come from?

"After our...fight, after we patched things up, I began to think about what I'd have done if we hadn't gotten back together. And I realized I'd miss you in a way that was more than just losing a friend. My guts ached. I cried a lot. And think I just admitted that I was feeling like that because I was in love with you. I was feeling like I'd broken up with a lover, not a friend. And we'd never been anything of the kind."

Maura sits with her elbows on her knees, silent for a long time absently handing Jane a box of tissues to wipe her teary eyes. She isn't looking at Jane; she's staring off into space. During this silence Jane resists the urge to get up and run, anywhere, as fast as she can; she doesn't want to face Maura's wrath. Finally Maura speaks up.

"Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw you with her? What just welled up in my throat?"

"Anger? Disgust?"

"I was _jealous._ Ferociously, fiercely _jealous_. I wanted to grab her by that platinum dye job and drag her out of there and kick her when she was down. It was only for a moment, not even a second, but it felt like fire was rising up from my stomach. I didn't even know her name and I hated her."

Maura Isles never has a bad word to say about anyone. Until now. "Maura...why?"

"I was able to reason it out later. One, she _wasn't me_. Two, even if you didn't want me, you deserved so much better than someone like her."

"Candace. She was actually very nice. She's the early-morning newscaster on channel 24."

"Are you going to keep seeing her?"

"No. we had dinner, went to her place...and decided we really...there wasn't any chemistry. Despite that kiss. We left on a friendly note."

Maura breathes a deep sigh. Jane asks, "Why would you be jealous? You date guys."

"Lately. I just haven't been able to work up any interest in women, and I _do_ need some sort of sex life. I'm bisexual. All my life. So yes, I am interested in you. I am _ very _attracted to you. I am in love with you, Jane."

Jane brightens, flashes a beaming smile, then her face drops again. "Wait...you hid that from me, but when I hide things from you, you go ballistic? What is that?"

"I just assumed you knew. You've seen me flirt with women. You've seen me flirt with you."

"I never really took that seriously."

"Jane, when will you get it through your head that you and I _can _have a relationship, that we _do_ have one, and that we need to clear all this foggy foolishness away and get on with it? I've been angry at you all weekend, but part of me has been full of...joy. Yes, joy. Because I knew that I might have a chance with you."

"What if I'd been serious about Candace?"

"I'd have been patient." Maura stands, leans over Jane with her arms on either side of Jane's head, braced against the back of the hard chair. "She clearly was not your type." Maura brings her face within inches of Jane's; they can feel each other's breath on their lips.

Jane cups Maura's cheek with her palm. "And you are?"

Maura moves closer, brushes Jane's lips with her own. "Yes. I am."


	2. Chapter 2: One Hundred and Twenty Second

**One Hundred and Twenty Seconds**

**A sequel to Blown**

**A/N: While this story follows Blown, it's more of a stand-alone sequel than a second chapter. I'm including it as a chapter because I know some people are following the first story and this makes it easier to find. This story explores some consequences of the events in Blown. You don't have to read either story to get the sense of the other (although I wish you would). I wrote this because several people felt there should be more from the first story. It's a lot more angst-y than Blown, but it says a lot of things that I think should be said and fanfic writers don't often explore. And no, I didn't write Blown with this story in mind; when I wrote it I had no intention of following it up. Rizzles throughout. As always, read and review! Thanks!**

**WARNING: This story may be triggering for some. There is family conflict of what might be a sensitive nature. Also, some sexual situations and language. Rated M.**

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. No cash. Nope.**

"Mmmhmmm."

"You can say that again."

"Mmm..."

"Oh, stop it and just kiss me."

"Okay. I can do that."

Lips join while the universe waits to start up again. Maura's fingers snake their way through Jane's hair, catching on snags like twigs floating downstream. Jane's palms press against Maura's naked back, leaving temporary white prints in her pale skin, gone as quickly at the splash of raindrops in a pond. "Afterglow" wasn't really the best term for this; it was a restful, cool, calm, drifting in a rowboat on a sunny day, lounging under the big old oak with a lemonade and a sweet soft breeze.

Or, just having finished fucking Maura blue, and having had her return the favor.

There was really _nothing_ like it.

The clocks start running again when Maura stirs. "Jane, we have to talk."

"You sure?"

Maura smiles wistfully. "I'm sure. We can't keep this up. I feel like that old spy movie you made me watch that time."

"It has been fun, though."

"_This _is fun, yes. But the hiding is getting on my nerves. I hate avoiding anyone I might have to lie to. I'm carrying an Epi-pen in my purse. I'm not cut out for this. I love you but I feel like I'm ready to run through the bull pen like a gibbering idiot."

Jane turns onto her side again, facing Maura. She takes Maura's hands in hers. "I'm sorry. I don't want to put you through this. And you're...so..._amazing_...for respecting my secret. I just don't know what would happen if I..."

"If you came out? Jane, people do it all the time."

"And so many times it's a disaster. I had a...friend...a long time ago...she came out to her parents over a weekend. They never spoke to her again. I mean _never_. Until they died. I couldn't bear that."

"But there's also a chance that she'll understand. She loves you, Jane. I can't imagine her turning you away."

"We _are_ talking about my mother, right?"

"You have to tell her. I can't not live in my own house. She almost caught us twice. We're spending so much time at your apartment I feel like I should pay your rent. We can do this. We can."

"You mean I can do this. She's not your mother."

Maura sits up abruptly, frustration limned in her features. "I love her as much as I love my own mother, Jane. It's not just about you. Angela and I are friends and more. And since when do you think I'd abandon you during that conversation? I will be right there, holding your hand, right by your side, when you tell her. So let's do it. Please."

Maura's voice is cool, logical, persuasive, but it's the pleading in her eyes that does it for Jane. If Maura asked Jane to bring her Old Ironsides for a lawn ornament, asked her with those eyes, that ship would be out in front by the end of the day.

"Okay. When?"

"Why don't we have her over for dinner tomorr...tonight. I'll cook."

"Just the three of us?"

"Just us three."

"All right. I'm game."

"Good."

"I've never been so scared in my life."

"You've said that before. You're still here." Maura rubs gentle warm circles on Jane's tummy. "Go to sleep."

######

Angela's picking at her food. "I'm glad you invited me to dinner. I've seen so little of you two lately. You're both gone so much, and you never come to the café any more...I'm beginning to wonder..."

Jane swallows a mouthful. "Ma, we've been kind of busy."

Maura fixes Jane with her eyes. "I think it's time, Jane."

Angela looks at Maura, eyes wide with questions. "Time for what?"

Maura is pouring strength into Jane through her eyes, a strong, steady gaze that fills Jane with confidence. "Start with us."

"Ma...Ma. This isn't easy. Please – remember I love you. Maura loves you. I don't want you to be mad."

"Mad? Mad about what? Jane, are you in some kind of trouble? It's not your job, is it? It's..."

"No, Ma. It's not. Listen..." She opens her hand and Maura takes it, and holds on as an extension of herself.

"Ma...Maura and I...we...we're a couple, Ma."

Silence. Angela stares. Like a bird between two predatory beasts, her eyes flicker back and forth from Jane to Maura to Jane.

"You and Maura? But you said you weren't...when you were fighting, you said that you and Maura _weren't_ a couple."

"That was two years ago, Ma. Things are different now. I love her."

"Well, of course. You two have always loved each other."

"No, Ma. She's my...my girlfriend. My...we're dating. We're together."

Angela turns to Maura, abruptly, mechanically. "Is this true?"

"Yes Angela. I'm in love with Jane. "

"So does this mean you're gay now? A lesbian?" Angela's face betrays the processing she's doing, trying to make sense of this suddenly foreign planet she's landed on.

"I've always been gay, Ma."

"Always? Like, all your life always?"

"Yes. Ever since I was a teenager."

"And how is it that I didn't know about this?" Her face is a map of the bewildered country; she is unable to find her way back to the familiar home of her previous life, the one that ended two minutes ago.

"I kept it a secret. God knows, Ma, keeping secrets from you is damned hard, but I had to keep this one."

"You were probably right. I wish it still was a secret." Before Jane can reply, she looks at Maura. "Did you put her up to this?"

Maura is taken aback. Before Jane can leap to her defense, she replies, "What? No, Angela. I can't put Jane up to anything. _No one_ can put Jane up to anything. You know how strong-willed she is."

Angela's beginning to steam up, now. Her earlier confusion is beginning to yield to righteousness. "Well, then how come you were normal for all this time and now all of a sudden you're gay? What happened?"

"I fell in love. Maybe for the first time in my life." Jane's beginning to get a little louder now, too. Maura squeezes her hand more tightly.

"What about Charles? You were in love with him? Weren't you? Well?"

Jane's voice breaks, the decibel level goes up. She's trying, but this is outrageous. "Ma, no! That was a mistake. He was just a safe cover. So people would stop asking questions. So _I_ would stop asking questions."

"Questions!? Like why aren't you married by now? Like why you don't have any kids? And now you tell me _this_ is why?"

Maura breaks in. "Angela, Jane _does_ love me. And I love her. That's...wonderful. We care for each other. I'm happy to have her in my life. Don't you..."

"Don't I think I should be happy? About this? That Jane will never have a man in her life, to give her children..." Her eyes are wet, but she refuses to cry in the face of this betrayal.

Angela seems to settle on a course of action, a decision. She looks at the women's joined hands, and her face clouds with suspicion.

"You can't be, Janie. This isn't right. We didn't raise you this way. I think you're very confused. I think you need some help."

Jane's voice raises, now a shout. This has developed into a full-blown fight and Maura is so sorry she ever suggested any of this. Jane yells, "Help? Like, a shrink? I'm not crazy, Ma. I just love another woman. Why is this so horrible? Or is it just because it's me doing it, you've got something more to criticize..."

Maura: "Will you both please stop! Just _stop! _This isn't getting us..."

"Janie, the church says it's a sin. You know that. It's against God's law..."

"Well, the church says divorce is a sin, and I don't see you becoming a nun!"

Hiroshima. Nagasaki. Bikini Atoll.

Silence. The emotional scorched earth of having gone too far.

All three of them are on their feet, not remembering when each jumped up during the shouting match. Angela throws her napkin, still in her hand, down on the table. She speaks in a low, hushed growl.

"Jane. This isn't acceptable. I know you think it's right, but it is _not_. Women should love men. You need to see a doctor, get yourself better. Your hormones or...or something, are all messed up. You have to fix this."

She turned her face to Maura, who was standing with one hand over her mouth, her eyes full of tears and her cheeks streaked. "And _you_. I practically adopted you. You were as good as a daughter to me. And you do this, you...you _corrupt_ my only daughter. How dare you!"

Maura speaks, sobs from behind her hand. "Angela! You don't understand. Jane never..."

"I _don't_ want to hear any more from you! You're a doctor. You should know better. If you care for Jane at all, let her go, help her find someone who can straighten her out, get her back to normal. If you can't do that, leave her alone! Just...leave her alone.

"I owe you a debt. I'm not sure If I can repay you immediately. But I will find a way. I'll begin looking for new quarters tomorrow."

"Angela, that isn't necessary..."

"Not a word, Dr. Isles. And Jane. Get over this. Be the girl I raised. Get help. Stop seeing this...woman. Or never speak to me again."

"_What?_"

"You heard me."

Maura can't take it any more. She stamps her foot and speaks sharply. "Angela!"

"Don't talk to me. You've done enough..."

"I _will_ talk to you! And you _will listen! _ This is _my _ house and you are my guest. You can't mean that. Jane is _your daughter! _If you're willing to cut her out of your life over this, you have no idea how precious she is to you! I cannot _believe_ that of you, that you'd discard her for being herself, for being honest! She's been living a lie for years, and now, when she tells you the truth, you're willing to cast her aside! She's done nothing to deserve this from you! She is the best person I've ever..."

Jane takes hold of Maura's arm. "Maura, you don't have to do this."

"I do! I will not stand here in my own home and listen to the woman I love be vilified this way! You should understand before you accuse!" Maura's eyes are flashing, her face is red, her fists are clenched. Jane loves her for defending her, and fears for her at the same time.

Angela's tone is glacial. "I understand very well. I meant what I said. I think I should go now." She looks through Maura to the wall. "Thank you for the dinner. Good night."

She walks out the door. Jane, who has been rooted to the floor, chases after her, tears flowing, choking out barely coherent words: "Ma! Ma! Please don't..."

She bites the knuckles of both hands as the door closes and Maura hurls her arms around Jane's waist, and the only sound is the sound of weeping.

######

Angela is distracted from packing her things by a knock at the door. She hopes it isn't Maura. Or Jane. She's told both of them she has nothing to say, and doesn't want to listen. It hurts more to see Jane, even though its easier to do, because all their lives they've bickered and fought, although not in any earnest; now it's the same kind of words, the same shouting and yelling, just now they really mean it. She's wounded, inside. Betrayed. It's harder to see Maura because Maura has done so much for her, been so kind to her. She has to see that as deception, as a way to get to Jane. That's the only way Angela can make sense of it.

She opens the door, bracing for another emotional hurricane.

Constance.

Since the hit-and-run, Angela and Constance have moved closer, have become friends. Angela shares her daughter's suspicion of rich people; and Constance has the mannerisms and vocabulary of a world so foreign to Angela's own. But Constance and she have common ground in having only daughters who are, in their own way, odd. So they have that to talk about, and Maura and Jane provide enough material to keep them talking for fifty years without a break.

"Constance. What a surprise."

"Hello, Angela. I hope I'm not arriving at an inconvenient time."

"No, not at all. Please. Come in."

"Thank you."

"Can I get you some coffee?" Even though this is the mother of the seductress who put the knife in her back, Angela will be polite.

"That would be lovely, thank you."

"Please, sit down." She brings two cups, and, as they sit companionably stirring their beverages, the sounds of battle begin to recede.

"What can I do for you, Constance? Wasn't Maura home?"

"Actually, I didn't come to see Maura. I came to see you."

"Me? Is this about Jane? Jane and Maura?"

"Yes it is. Now, please, I have no intention of meddling between you and Jane. But Maura _is _my concern, and I don't want to see her hurt. Can we talk about this, try to reach some understanding that will benefit everyone?"

"I've given Jane my conditions."

"Yes. I know. Get over it or never speak to you again."

"Maura told you."

"Yes, she did. She told me everything that transpired. You should know she is devastated."

"She misled Jane. Jane was never like this before she got involved with Maura."

"Angela, Jane was gay long before she met Maura. She just did an excellent job of hiding it."

"Why didn't she tell me a long time ago? We could have worked this out."

"She did tell you, did she not? And you were angry with her. The very thing she feared."

"Well, that's true. But if..."

"Angela, there is no way to 'work out' homosexuality. Nothing you could have done could have changed Jane."

But, a doctor...therapy...something."

"There's not a shred of evidence that any such program accomplishes anything. Any reputable physician can tell you that. Ask Maura. Despite her self-interest, she will lay out all the facts, studies, evidence. You know how dispassionate she can be about scientific findings. Jane is gay. Period."

Angela pauses, a hint of curiosity tweaking her. "How did you find out about Maura?"

"That is actually an interesting story. Maura had everything all planned. She was living in our house in Boston, attending college, while we were in Europe. She had been seeing a young lady, a college classmate. This was after that dreadful affair with the Fairfield boy – I never did like him, although his family was acceptable, I suppose. I was glad when Maura broke it off with him, although she was head-over-heels in love with him. In any case, we came home for a holiday, and she simply announced, at dinner, that she'd conceived this attraction for a woman. She explained herself, told us that bisexuality was quite normal – she had all the studies at hand, of course – and could her lady friend come by the next day for lunch? We met her friend, were suitably impressed, and simply told her that whatever was best for her was her choice to make and her life to live. I was concerned, but I kept it to myself. Mostly because the life of a gay man or woman in the United States can be extraordinarily difficult, sometimes even dangerous. I did warn her about that, but as we saw no moral or physical harm in the life she was living, we gave our tacit approval. I'm very happy, Angela, that she's found someone to love, and who loves her."

"So Maura being gay didn't disturb you?"

"No. We didn't believe it was evil, or unhealthy, or any such. It was just a different way for her to express love. And Maura is brimming with love."

Angela was contemplative. "I suppose. She can be very kind. But I just don't understand how a woman can love another woman. Romantic love."

"Yes, you do."

"Excuse me?"

"You do understand. Because you've been in love yourself."

"Well...yes. But that was with a man. Not a woman. It has to be different."

"Why? We all need to love. We all need to share our lives with someone. Why should the love Jane and Maura have for each other be any different kind of experience than the love you had for your husband? Oh, I know about the divorce, but there was surely a time when you and Jane's father were truly in love. Remember? I do. I remember when my husband and I couldn't be apart for a moment. I remember the joy we gave each other. _That_ is what our daughters have. And I can only be happy for them."

"But...Constance, I don't know enough about this to argue with you. But it just _seems_ wrong."

"Angela, I'm an artist. The arts community harbors many gay people. In my experience they are people before they're anything else. And they all need, wish, to love and be loved. Just as you and I do."

"It's not the way Jane was raised."

"You love Jane."

"Of course. That's why I was so upset."

"Can you remember that moment when Jane told you she was gay? That she was in love with Maura? Think back to that moment. Think of Jane as she was sixty seconds before she told you. The daughter you raised. That you loved. The light of your life. Do you have that picture?"

Angela wipes the tears from her cheeks. "Yes."

"Now it is sixty seconds after that moment. Who is she? Has she become a different person? She is still Jane, is she not?"

Angela holds very still, her eyes closed, her hands in her lap. She is, in fact, the soul, the epitome, of stillness.

"Yes. She was. She is."

"She's been a lesbian all her life. Is she any different than the girl you loved now that you know it?"

"No."

"So the only thing that has changed is you. Your state of knowledge. Jane is no more ill, or evil, or mentally deranged, than she ever was. You loved and cherished her then. Why not now, that you know her so much better?

"Speak to her, Angela. She is in agony. She loves you as only Jane can. I know Jane only a little, compared to the way you know her. But I know Maura, and I know she loves Jane with all her heart and soul. That says much about Jane. They both love you. Don't shut them out."

After a long silence, Angela stands, offers her hand. "Thank you, Constance. I'll consider what you've said. You've given me a lot to think about."

Constance takes her hand. "Thank you for hearing me out. I should tell you that I have come to love and admire your daughter. She's so courageous, and she looks after Maura in so many ways. I could go to my grave happy to know that Maura is in her care. Well, goodbye. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Angela." To Angela's surprise, Constance gives her a brief hug. She never thought Constance was much of a hugger.

######

They ride home from work in a gloomy silence that seemed to match the gloom of the day. The last five days. Gray, oppressive skies; no rain, no snow. Perfectly consonant with their prevailing mood.

They'll stop at Maura's house only long enough for her to collect some changes of clothes before going back to Jane's apartment to spend the night. Neither of them feel comfortable in such close proximity to Jane's mother, whose hostility casts a pall over everything. At least at the apartment some objective distance can be reached.

Jane is clearly depressed; Maura can diagnose all the signs. Lack of affect, loss of appetite, disturbed sleep; they're all there. It hurts Maura inexpressibly to see Jane so wounded. Truth be told, Maura is also depressed; they feed off of each other's sadness; they both cry a lot, separately and together. The only anomaly has been their sex life; instead of retreating from sex, Jane has wanted it even more, and they make love desperately, as if Jane were reaching for life, for some energy that has escaped her since the fight with Angela. She clings to Maura as if to a piece of flotsam after a shipwreck, holding on to prevent drowning in her own anguish. All her life her mother has been her anchor; like an anchor, Angela has often dragged Jane down; but, like an anchor, Angela has also kept Jane grounded.

All that is gone now. Jane is cut loose from her mother; and while she has Maura, they haven't been together as a couple long enough yet for Jane to have established a new mooring. She is adrift.

The only good thing (if anything from this debacle can be said to be good) was Jane's immediate assurance, almost to the second of Angela closing the door behind her, that she held Maura responsible for none of this. To Maura, who is always ready to accept far more guilt than she is even remotely entitled to, this was fresh oxygen blown straight into her lungs. Jane could have blamed her for everything, and Maura would have accepted the justice of it; as it is, Jane holds her blameless, and, as difficult as it is for Maura to accept, her love for Jane has only deepened.

Maura won't tell Jane it will be okay, Angela will come around; she has no evidence, no reason to believe that it's true. Maura can't lie, and such hollow promises, bereft of any connection to the reality they know, are certainly in the same genus as an outright falsehood. The best she can do is hold her, assure Jane of her continued presence, gentle her back to sleep when she wakes in the depths of the night.

The house is dark; when they light up the living room, they both see it. On the desk behind the sofa is a large mixed bouquet of colorful, aromatic flowers. The room is filling with their fragrance. They look at each other, and they both thank the other, each assuming that the gift was from the other.

"No, I didn't send it. Didn't you?"

"No. I thought they were from you. Not me."

"Well then, who?"

"I suppose reading the card would help."

Simple, white. One handwritten question.

"_Can we talk?"_

There is no signature. But Jane recognizes the handwriting as if it were her own. She looks at Maura. "What do you think?"

"It's up to you, love. But the way I see it, if she's willing to make a gesture, I'd say yes. See what she has to say. You can't go on like this."

"Neither can you." She points to Maura's eyes. "What do you call them? Jugular folds? Not sleeping. Crying. This is getting to you, Maura. As much as I know you've been trying to hold me up, I know it's taking a toll. I should be holding you up, too. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. Actually...I hope this doesn't upset you. I called my mother the day after the blowup. I met her for lunch, had a good cry, told her everything. I hope you don't mind."

Jane considers. "Hmmm. Well...no, I guess that's okay. You're mother is all right, really. How is she feeling?"

"Generally fine. She has some lingering effects from the accident. Joint pain, stamina. But she is back to her normal routine. It's okay that I talked to her? About us, your mother?"

""Yeah, I guess. I have no right to ask you not to talk to your mother. But...I guess I'm not ready for everybody to know. I'd like to keep it to as few people as possible."

"I understand. For now. But eventually..."

"Eventually we'll rent out Fenway and tell the whole city. But we should talk to Ma right now." She pulled out her phone, spoke to Angela for a few seconds. "She'll be right over."

######

"Hey, Ma."

"Hi. Jane. Hi, Maura."

"Why don't we all sit down."

Jane and Maura sit close together on the couch. Angela sits in the chair. They all look at each other as if trying to decide who should speak first. Finally Angela does.

"I really came here to apologize. I said some horrible things. I was shocked, and angry. But I should never have said the things I did. I'm very sorry. To both of you."

Jane and Maura exchange a glance which seems to include an entire conversation. "That's all right. Ma. I'm sorry, too. I got out of hand."

"It's okay, Janie. Listen, girls, I don't claim to understand how you feel. I still have my doubts about whether what you're doing is right. But I've had time to think about it and I think I realize three things. First, you are both grown women, responsible adults, and how you choose to live your lives, especially your love lives, is none of my business."

"Ma...that's a big admission, coming from you." _More like a miracle._

"Yes...I guess it is. Second, You are my daughter and _I love you_. I need you in my life. I need Maura, too, because she's good and kind and she idolizes you. And third, nothing has really changed. You're Jane. The same Jane you've always been. The same Jane I've always loved."

Jane is crying. Without fear or shame. Whatever her mother's inner reservations, Jane knows Angela is taking a giant leap of faith. In her. _For her. And for Maura._

_From now on, I have to include Maura in every thought I have, every decision I make, everything I do._ She is the most important entity in Jane's life, and her mother has been the one to make her finally realize that.

She reaches for Maura's hand, and it is right there for her.

Angela is still speaking. She speaks into her lap, eyes downcast, not ready yet to meet Maura's eyes. "I owe you more than an apology, Maura. I have no idea where I'd be if it wasn't for you. And, you're right, nobody can make up Jane's mind for her but her. If Jane loves you, it must be because you're loveable, not because you did any hocus-pocus on her."

(Maura looks at Jane with an expression of incomprehension on her face, and Jane silently mouths "later" at her.)

"I guess I have to change. You two are the reality, and I have to just watch and learn. I'm still your mother, Jane, and I'm still going to nag you, I don't want you doing anything foolish like standing in front of bullets or jumping off bridges after criminals. And eat right. Be nice to Maura. Don't spend three days working and then come home all sweaty and flop in the bed. Your father used to do that...anyway. I'm sorry. I want to start over. Okay?"

The tissue box is making the rounds as all three of them wipe their eyes. Maura smiles at Jane – that luminous smile that Jane imagines to be accompanied by music so beautiful she hasn't heard it yet – and then says, "Angela, we both want that, also. We never wanted to make you upset. Thank you for understanding. We want you in our lives, too. I know you have reservations, but I think you'll see that we'll be all right. We love each other and we'll take care of each other."

"Then I'll be fine. That's what I've wanted for Jane...someone to love her and care for her. If it has to be a woman I'm glad it's you."

"Ahh...yes, then. Thank you."

Jane speaks over the awkward resonances. "I'm hungry. What do we want to do for dinner?"

Maura patted Jane's hand. "How about that Thai place we've wanted to try out? They're supposed to have a very good seafood curry."

Jane says, "Yeah. Come with us, Ma. They've got some stuff you'll like, I'm sure."

"Why not? I can be adventurous. But hug me first, both of you."

They all hug at once, Maura being careful not to be stabbed with the butt of Jane's gun. They put their coats on and, as they head for the garage, Angela asks, "So, how does this work, anyway? Two women?"

Jane puts her arm around Maura; they both laugh silently. Progress has been made. They can be happy with what they've got.

######

Maura comes out of the shower, her hair up in a loose bun, naked and barefoot. So innocent. So sexy. Jane is in bed, having showered earlier. Maura slips into the bed, sits up on her knees, her weight back on her ankles, her hands folded demurely in her lap. She has discovered that Jane adores looking at her, in just this way, before they begin making love; and it excites her to know she excites Jane. For a while nothing is said, no one moves. Then to signal that she is ready, Maura dips her head and Jane reaches up, pulls the pins out of her hair, and it falls, toasted gold, down her shoulders and across her breasts. Jane rises up and kisses Maura, their tongues meeting. It begins.

The slickness along Jane's thigh smoothes Maura's way, back and forth, sliding, pressing in, harder and harder, her hands on either side of Jane's head, Jane's mouth on her breast. Maura can still taste Jane on her lips, her tongue, and she feels the pressure building inside her as she remembers how that taste came to be there, just a few minutes ago, bringing Jane to climax. That thought, that _word_, in her head, pushes her over, and she brings her face to Jane's, eyes to eyes, completing the circuit so the power runs through them both. She pants once more, twice more, deep, saturating breaths, then falls into Jane, surrounded by her arms.

"Will she be all right? Really all right?" Maura murmurs into Jane's shoulder.

"I think so. In the long run. I think she gave herself a scare. I know she scared _me_. I think we both learned that as strong as our bond is, it's not unbreakable. We can do things, say things, that we might not be able to take back. We need to be careful, while still being ourselves."

"We could say the same about us."

"I suppose. It's inevitable that someday you and I will fight about something. We need to set some boundaries before that happens, that's all. Ma and I have never talked about that. We've just felt our way along, and maybe neither of us were ready for something this big."

"But you got through it. It was rocky but you got through it."

"you mean _we_ got through it. And I guess maybe Mrs. Dr. Isles had a hand in that. But I'm not gonna ask."

"I honestly don't know, Jane. She knew, but I don't know what she did about it."

"Let's put off that fighting thing as long as we can. I'm not ready for that yet."

"I agree. Can we talk about this later? Not in bed? Not after what we just did?"

"Anytime you want. I love you, Maura."

" 've you, too." Maura is sleepy. Sleepy Maura is inarticulate.

"Go to sleep."


	3. Chapter 3: Promises

**Blown**

**Chapter 3: Promises**

**A/N: Another story of how Jane and Maura weather another crisis, and how they grow as a couple. Contains description of severe emotional pain.**

**Thanks Thanks thanks for the positive and encouraging reviews! Many of you wanted to see more of this thread, so what was originally a one-shot is turning into...something bigger. Dunno how big yet. Keep reviewing and let me know if you want more, or if I should just shut up...**

Today is Thursday.

She hasn't seen Jane, socially, conjugally, or otherwise, for four days. Sunday night, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Oh at work, surely, but they've agreed to curb their lusty and affectionate natures in their professional environments. The last thing Jane wants (and Maura concurs) is to put on a show for the slavering masses at headquarters.

But Jane has begged off every night this week. _Sorry, I can't come over, I have paperwork. Not tonight, Maur', I'm going right to bed, I'm really beat. I have to shop – no more food or beer in my fridge. _All perfectly good reasons, except for one thing; they're lame. On a visit to the bullpen on Monday, she heard Frost complain how bored he was; the squad was all caught up on everything. On Tuesday, Jane could have – as she has done every night for the last four months – slept in Maura's bed (Since Angela has accepted their relationship, Jane practically lives at Maura's house, and they never miss a night together.) (Except Tuesday. And Monday.). And Wednesday, of course, was an outright lie; If there's anything Jane hates, avoids like the plague, would rather have root canal than – it's _shopping_. Even saying the word in her presence produces epic cringing and whining. She'd starve, or live on delivery and take-out, if Maura didn't shanghai her to the market at least once a month. And most of what Jane buys (beer and snack items) ends up in Maura's kitchen, anyway.

So where the bloody hell has Jane been?

Jane misses Thursday, too. Something about a meeting at the FBI field office. Does Jane have a Federal level case now? Nobody else has mentioned it. At least she comes back to Maura's, although it's after midnight. They snuggle, they make love, and it's really good, but Jane seems...distracted. Not quite there. And something picks at Analytical Maura's brain...something is...off. It takes Analytical Maura until Friday morning to figure it out: Jane _smelled..._odd. Not offensive, not sweaty (although Sweaty Athletic Jane is something of a turn-on); just..._different_.

They rise together, get dressed at the same time, and ride to work in Jane's car because Maura's car will be serviced today. While she gets dressed, Jane's _humming_. Well, not really humming, just scatting little musical phrases under her breath, completely oblivious to the fact that she can be heard. Vocalizing? _In the morning_?

Who are you and what have you done with my detective?

During the ride, Maura asks, "Pizza tonight?" Tonight is Friday, movie night. An ironclad, contractual obligation in their relationship. Snuggling will be involved. Laughter. Junk food. Beer. Sex.

If Jane begs off _tonight_, for whatever reason, something is seriously wrong.

Jane begs off.

Maura is silently, virulently livid.

She doesn't really hear Jane's excuse. Something about a baby shower for a junior college friend. Jane will drop Maura off at the mechanic's, and then has to go. Maura seriously doubts that Jane has had any contact with anyone from her community college days since she graduated. And she is also pretty sure that Jane would not be caught dead at any event that even looked like a baby shower.

She studies Jane's profile as she drives. Maura does this often, so Jane doesn't find it creepy (any more), but rather admiring and affectionate. This time, though, Maura is in full FACS mode, studying Jane's micro-tics, looking for clues. Jane is clearly withholding the truth, if not outright lying.

Why is Jane lying to me?

Before she turns away, she sees something out of her peripheral vision: a garment bag, hanging on the hook behind the driver's seat.

This would be unremarkable, except that Maura happens to know that Jane's only garment bag is hanging in her – their – bedroom closet, protecting Jane's dress uniform.

Time for a ruse. A ruse is not a lie. It is a trick, a stratagem, a sleight-of-hand. A lie is a deliberately false statement.

She has her epi-pen, just in case.

As she prepares to exit the car, her purse, which she has open on her lap, rummaging for something, tips and spills much of its contents on the floor. She expresses appropriate sounds of frustration, echoed by Jane, with accusations that she'll make both of them late. She picks up the detritus, leaving her iPod under the passenger seat, unnoticed.

They ride down together in the elevator. They always do this when they can, because it allows for privacy to work in one delicious kiss. Maura enjoys today's kiss, lets Jane's touch convince her, if only for the moment, that all the deceptions are not deceptions, that she's misinterpreting them, that Jane really is telling the truth. The romantic intoxication lasts until she gets to her office, when doubt begins to nag her again.

After performing her morning preparations, she reaches into her purse (for the benefit of anyone who might be watching, which nobody is), and of course her iPod isn't there. She needs her music to stay focused during an autopsy. Where is it? Oh, of course, silly Maura, it's in the car, you must have left it behind when you dumped your purse.

She goes up to the bullpen, begs Jane's keys, with the truthful statement that she left the iPod in the car. Jane barely looks up from her work, hands Maura the keys, and she's off to the lot and into Jane's car. She retrieves her device quickly, and then sets about the true objective of her mission.

Inside the garment bag is...a dress. A quite lovely dress, in fact, very elegant, a pale powder-blue with understated but intricate beadwork on the bodice. Sleeveless. The kind of garment one would wear to a dinner party, a wedding, or...on a date.

The kind of garment that Jane Rizzoli would be shoehorned into only with the strongest of incentives.

This is getting infuriating.

Another item: to Maura's practiced eye, the dress has been worn. Repeatedly, if the subtle pattern of wrinkles is any clue. And, against the light background of the fabric, she finds two hairs. Both dark. Both long.

She wraps the hairs carefully in a clean tissue, zips up the bag, locks the car, and returns to the building. She drops Jane's keys on her desk, without meeting the detective's eyes, and returns to the morgue.

She feels the smoldering of a smoky, oily flame begin somewhere in the middle of her.

After the autopsy is finished, she takes the hairs, mounts them for microscopic exam, and views them. One, the darker one, is unequivocally Jane's. She's shown Jane her own hair under the microscope before, to try and teach her about the features that can be used to identify and compare strands; she would recognize it anywhere. The other is..not Jane's. And it's not Maura's, either. It's finer, a dark auburn, not Angela's, either. It belongs to someone she doesn't know. Someone who is _not Maura. _

That oily flame blooms, blossoms into a volcano, poisonous bile rising to her brain, clouding her thought, the churning foulness of jealousy bubbling inside her. She is furious.

This is just what she fears, every time she enters a serious relationship. Because it's happened before.

And it's happening again.

She fails to satisfy the needs of her lovers. They get bored with her. They turn to someone else, someone more pliable, more adept at flattery and finesse, more skilled at pleasing than Maura could ever be. And they drift away from her.

As Jane has. As Jane has.

Despair sinks its claws into her, drags her down, and she feels the seductive warmth of submission. Retreat. Defeat. Just let it go. Her scientific mind refuses to consider alternatives, and the lonely child takes over, wallowing in what she recognizes as a slime of self-pity.

Self-pity. The most repulsive emotion she can imagine.

She's a grown woman. This is not for her. If there is anything that she's learned from Jane, it's that a good offense is the best defense. And she's going to use that lesson now, even as the one who mentored it to her has betrayed her.

She realizes she's slouched into the stool at the microscope station, her chin on her chest, her hands clasped behind her neck. The emotion becomes too much, and she screams. A single, angry roar. The crime techs, preparing to leave for the day, look up, but no one comes into the morgue. Dr. Isles in a mood is not to be trifled with.

She's better, now. She's prepared for what must be done. What is to happen after, she'll worry about then. She suspects there will be a great deal of crying, yelling, and possible breakage; but that can wait.

She sits in the chair, spine erect, hands in her lap. Waiting. She doesn't have to wait long. The morgue doors bang open.

"Hey, Maura, we need to go so we can get you car."

Maura's gaze is cold, like that of a snake.

"Who is she, Jane?"

Jane stops dead in her tracks. "You know."

"Yes. I know. Who is she?"

"How did you find out?"

"That's not important. Who is she? How long have you been going out with her?" As Jane continues to be evasive, Maura begins to understand how domestic homicides happen.

Jane, sensing the fury in Maura, answers. "Her name is Wendy. And I'm not going out with her."

"What _are_ you doing?" By the tone of the question Maura might as well have asked _do you just take her straight to bed?_, but she is still a little cautious.

"Actually, it's Wendy and her husband. I'm working with both of them."

"_Working?_ Is that what you call it?"

"Maura. It's nothing like what you're thinking."

"What is it like, then? How can you explain being away night after night, the most transparent excuses, a date dress in your car..."

"You found that? You snooped?"

"I had to. I wasn't going to be a victim again."

"You don't trust me, do you? After all this time?"

"You seem used to keeping secrets. I wonder if it's safe to trust you."

"Can I show you something?"

"What?"

"Give me five minutes, and if you're not satisfied with what you see, we'll do whatever you decide is best. I won't fight with you. All right?"

Maura's resolve wavers, just a little. This is, after all, _Jane. _"All right."

Jane extends her hand. "C'mere. Stand up."

There is an XM radio receiver on a shelf behind the autopsy bay. Jane turns it on, tunes across the stations until she finds music. Swing jazz. Glen Miller, in fact. She turns up the sound.

Despite Maura's desperate mood, the music gets under that, causing her to bounce on the balls of her feet. It makes her want to dance.

And that is exactly what Jane says to her.

"Dance with me?"

Before Maura can protest Jane has her hand over head, coaxing her into a twirl, then begins to dance with Maura - a very creditable swing step, a kind of Lindy variation. She misses a step now and then, and her style is a bit angular, but she is _dancing_. Something she's steadfastly refused all Maura's invitations to do. She'll never go with Maura to balls and charity functions for just this reason, she says. She can't dance. Not the ballroom and swing style fashionable at such events.

But it appears she can.

Maura starts out very slow and reluctant, but watching Jane jitterbug her way through it, Maura throws herself into it. She's learned basic ballroom steps in boarding school, as a social grace. She's no Beyonce', but she can hold her own.

The music stops. Maura has a fine sheen of sweat on her face. At first she smiles.

Then she bursts into tears, and she slaps Jane a good one, right across the face.

"Hey! What'd you..."

"_That_ was what that was all about? _Dancing lessons_? You put me through that hell over _dancing lessons_?"

"Yeah, god, Maura, I had no idea...I'm so..."

"You _should_ have had an idea! Oh god, I'm sorry! Come here!" Maura takes Jane's face in her hands, kisses her. Soft kisses on the cheek, and then on the mouth. "I shouldn't have done that. But you had me so angry! You should have told me."

"Look, sweetie. I'm sorry. I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to get a lot better, over next week, and then we'd go to that charity thing you have next Saturday. We could dance, and be there together, and you could introduce me to everybody as your girlfriend. I can get used to being...us, for a whole crowd at a time. I can do that. I want to do that. But I have to be able to dance well enough to not embarrass you. So...five hours a night, every night except Saturday. Damn, I was running out of excuses."

"You had some pretty crappy excuses. Why'd you think I was suspicious?"

"I didn't think you'd...were you really thinking I'd...?"

"Why not? It always happens. I bore people. They get tired of me. Why should you be any different?"

"Because I am. Because I love you."

The assertion is so simple, so unaffected, that Maura cannot doubt the sincerity. She allows Jane to fold her into Jane's arms, face snuggled against Jane's chest.

Jane goes on. "You have to know this: _I will never leave you._ I've never made that promise to anyone before. I've never been in love with anyone before. I could no more leave you than I could rip my heart out of me.

"How could you think I'd cheat on you? Maura, why would I go with anyone else when I have you? No one else could come anywhere close to what you do for me."

"But...you were so secretive...everything seemed to point to..."

"I just never thought you'd believe...it never entered my mind that that's what you'd think. I suppose I should have been more sensitive."

"I guess I need to rethink what trusting you means."

"You do. I'm not like anyone you've ever had before. I'll bet anything on it. You can't get rid of me."

"I don't want to."

The music starts playing a slow, sweet, jazzy waltz, and Jane takes Maura into ballroom position. "Slow dance, sweetheart?"

Instead of replying, Maura rests her forehead on Jane and moves with her. Jane is better at this; despite her height and long limbs, she is surprisingly graceful. They ease into each other, until they forget all the drama in the warmth they create.

"I'm sorry about the slap."

Jane laughs a little. "It's okay, Maur'. I've been hit by experts. But remind me never to give you reason to do it again."

"I understand you a little better, now. I don't think I'll have to."

"And I'm gonna be more careful not to spook you. Al I want you to feel is that I love you. No strings."

"No strings."

"Let's go. Your car's gonna spend the weekend in the garage if we don't get there soon."

Maura holds Jane by the arms, looks her in the eyes. "Jane..."

"What?"

"I'll never leave you, either. Believe me."

"I do."

Their kiss is more than a pleasure; it's a promise.


	4. Chapter 4 Confidence Part 1

SUMMARY: Maura and Jane chase a vicious professional killer, and learn more about managing their relationship. Rated M for language, implied violence, and a judicious amount of smut.

**Blown**

**Chapter 4: Confidence Part 1**

**A/N: This is a little different. There's a lot of cop stuff in this story, but it's all relevant to the discoveries Jane and Maura make about each other. It's als long, so I've divided it up into four chapters. All the chapters are written; I will edit them before I post them. I'll probably post one chapter a day, but that's not a promise. **

Anders Gravcik had, to the certain knowledge of the BPD Homicide division, killed six people. They had suspicions that he'd killed at least five others.

Anders Gravcik was a pro. Born and raised in Lithuania, brought up by Soviet parents, trained by the KGB, he'd honed his skills as an assassin in the service of the Soviet apparatus in the Baltic States. He was an expert at his craft; he could mark, stalk, isolate, and finish any target, regardless of his(or her) circumstances, or the precautions they'd taken.

Anders Gravcik was _persona non grata_ in his own country. When Lithuania became independent, Anders' life expectancy, had he stayed, was that of the spring ice. So he left. Pressuring his way aboard an Indian-flag freighter, he ended up in Boston, illegal of course, but with a marketable skill.

Anders Gravcik was self-employed, an equal opportunity executioner. His known victims included one white man, one black woman, a Japanese couple, a native American man, and a thirteen-year-old boy who was a courier for a major drug gang. The victims apparently had nothing in common other than that they had, or worked for people who had, numerous enemies.

Unfortunately, in the machinations of the American justice system, _knowing_ and _proving_ were entirely different things.

Jane Rizzoli knew Gravcik was the killer in all eleven murders. Because Anders Gravcik signed his work.

He was a knife man, Gravcik. His MO was rigid; stalk the victim from behind, in a dark or lonely place, and two swift stabs to the kidneys; slit the throat of the fallen victim. Then –- as a signature –- a slash on each side of the mouth, at the corners of the lips, back through the cheeks, leaving the jaw to fall open and a bloody death grin on the victim's face.

Detective Rizzoli had been following Gravcik's career since his first victim – a retired cop who had been involved in a gambling racket – was dumped, almost literally, on her doorstep. Or the department's, actually; he'd been killed fifty yards down the street from the main entrance of the BPD headquarters, sometime between two and four in the morning. According to Dr. Isles, and Jane trusted the medical examiner's expertise (and this trust had nothing to do with the blossoming emotional involvement of the detective and the coroner; Jane was very careful about that).

Other than his chilling calling card, Anders Gravcik was careful to leave no evidence that could be used in a court of law. An MO alone was insufficient; anybody could adopt another's methods. No prints. No blood. No tissue, hair, or saliva. If there were traces of the victim on Gravcik's clothing or person, he was careful to eliminate them in the moments following the crime. No contaminated articles had ever been found. He was a ghost who left no trail. Gravcik had even been arrested, once, within hours of the killing, and the police had been forced to let him go, having insufficient evidence for an arraignment. The best they could do was get a warrant for a blood sample, which provided no DNA match to anything found at the scene. The best charge they could pin on him with being an illegal immigrant, but he made bail, and disappeared into the morass of Boston's underworld. BPD couldn't find him; INS couldn't find him; even the FBI couldn't find him.

The DA's office chewed out the cops for not producing enough evidence. The cops berated the DA for not making a better case. And Anders Gravcik walked freely among Boston's citizenry for five years, as invisible as that man on the train that you sat next to yesterday.

So there was never a moment in her professional life so filled with glee, so triumphant, as the moment Jane Rizzoli knew that they finally had enough evidence to put Anders Gravcik away for good.

######

It seems like a pretty normal crime scene. Body, blood pools. It's seven a.m., and Homicide Squad One has been called in to secure the scene, obtain evidence. While Sgt. Korsak is nominal site commander, he turns the operation of the scene over to Det. Jane Rizzoli, knowing from past experience that she gets things done. Det. Frost is interviewing the steward who found the body, but he's not making much progress; the guy barely speaks English.

CME Isles is crouched over the body, delicately avoiding staining the soles of her calf-high Louis Vuitton boots (Which Jane wishes she wouldn't wear to a crime scene, as she finds them very distracting). Crime techs are bagging, tagging, and swabbing everything, and the lab photographer is making stills and video of the whole sordid mess.

The body's been photographed _in situ_. Maura has the techs roll him over so she can examine his back. After a minute or two, she releases the body to the morgue van, and the techs gurney him out. Jane watches this operation, as if in deep thought, but only the bottom half of her brain is thinking about the murder. The rest of it is marveling at the motions Maura makes as she maneuvers, crouched over the body, in a tight skirt. Jane never gets tired of that sight. But her cop brain takes over, mentally chiding herself for impure thoughts of her lover while on the job. Maura comes over to talk to Jane.

"He's been stabbed twice in the back, and his throat was cut. His _orbicularis oris _and _buccinator_ muscles were cut through, on both sides. He bled out in about a minute." She is carefully cleaning her long forceps and returning them to her instrument bag. Jane catches her eye and stares at her with that demanding look that says "What the..." Maura smiles. "The muscles of the lips and cheek." She gestures by drawing lines on her own face with her fingertips, tracing a hideous harlequin grin. "Those wounds were made _post mortem_."

Korsak asks, "Gravcik?" Maura shakes her head.

"While the pattern of stab wounds and slashes is consistent with Gravcik's MO, I can't base any conclusions on that. It might be a copycat. It might be someone Gravcik is training as an apprentice. He wouldn't be the first multiple murderer to do that. I have to make..."

"...more tests." Jane completes Maura's sentence, and gives her a brief scowl for bringing up an unpleasant aspect of her past. Maura gives her a little, almost unnoticeable "I'm sorry" pout.

Jane squares her shoulders. "Well, I'm prepared to say this is Gravcik's work until we know more."

"You're guessing, Jane."

"I'm _forming a hypothesis_, Dr. Isles. A necessary part of the scientific method."

"Oh, we've been reading up?"

"The better to keep up with you, my dear."

Maura stifles a giggle, trying to maintain a professional veneer. She adores this banter with Jane, even though onlookers might take it as hostile power play. Power play it is, though not hostile. More like foreplay.

Frost joins the group. "We need to get this guy down to the station, find someone who can speak his lingo. His English is really weak."

Maura addresses the steward, who stands there nervously in what looks like a bellboy's uniform. "Ли вы говорить на русском?" Jane and the others find the sentence wholly unintelligible, but the steward brightens and responds with a block of chatter that Maura clearly understands. Whatever it is, she speaks his language.

"He speaks Russian", she says, matter-of-factly.

Jane's eyebrows go up. "Oh, and so do you?"

"Well...yes."

"Aaaand...something else I don't know about you."

"I'm full of surprises, Jane."

Korsak clears his throat. "would you ladies like to save this for tea time so we can do some crime-solving here?"

"Certainly. Det. Frost, what do you want him to tell you?"

"Just ask him how he found the body."

A staccato exchange of Russian follows, and Maura paused frequently to translate. "He's the chief steward of this club, Detective. It's a social club for Lithuanian émigrés. He's supposed to open the front of the building at six in the morning, so the breakfast crowd can come in an hour later. He came back here to the kitchen, to get coffee for the urns in the front room, and found the cook dead on the floor, blood all over. The cook was supposed to come in at five to start the preparation of breakfast. He heard nothing during the few minutes he was here. He saw the body and called the police. He says he didn't disturb anything."

"How'd the cook get in?"

More Russian. Jane is amazed at Maura's fluency. And not a little proud. This woman. Good Lord.

"He has a key to the back door. He goes to the early market, unloads any ingredients he's purchased, and starts cooking. He sometimes leaves the door open so he can make several trips to his truck in the alley."

Frost has been entering Maura's summary of the steward's statement into his tablet; he asks Maura to ask the steward to be available if they want to interview him further, and that he's free to go. The steward refuses.

"He says he has to stay to serve the patrons, the members. They'll be in any time."

"Not today," Jane interjects. "This is a crime scene. He's closed until further notice."

The steward shakes his head vigorously. "He can't leave his post, he says."

Korsak, a former Marine, says "Dr. Isles, can you translate 'stand down'?"

"I think so." She speaks to the steward, who immediately understands. He bows to the assembled detectives, and leaves.

"I _thought_ he might be former military. Just a hunch."

Jane starts to survey the room, which is a commercial-grade kitchen. "Let's see what we've got here...Steel counters along the wall, sinks, ovens, range, fridge. Steel bowl of eggs. Looks like he started his breakfast before Grav...sorry, _the killer_, arrived. Stainless steel prep table. Body is about halfway between the table and the door. There's blood on this table. Quite a bit of it."

"Maybe the vic was standing against the table when he was stabbed."

"Mmmm. Maybe. The steel edge is scratched. Something metallic was banged against this table. Struggle? The vic and the killer, maybe belt buckles, the knife..."

"The vic pushes the killer away from him..." Frost demonstrates on Jane, ...The vic falls here, and the killer leaves through the back door.

"If he left through the door, he was hurt, " Maura points out.

"How do you know that?" Jane asks the question without sarcasm; when Maura makes such a statement she already knows how to prove it.

"Look at the blood trail. It leads from right next to the table to the door. Whoever was shedding the blood was moving in the direction of the door. If it was our killer, he was bleeding. The drops are large, and they're stretched in the direction of the door. Hmm...that's odd."

"What?"

"The drops are crenellated. They have a kind of serrated edge. That means they fell from a distance."

"How much distance?"

"Oh, five, six feet," Maura said. But that would be..."

"...a guess. Well, don't get hives over it. It's all guessing at this point. Maybe it was a head wound. Tall guy. Gravcik's five-ten."

"So this could be Gravcik's blood? Seriously?" Frost is smiling.

Maura stood up. "It's quite possible. Maybe the blood on the table is his, too. Maybe there was a fight over the knife and Grav..the killer was cut." Even Logical Maura was getting caught up in the excitement of the possibility that a notorious freelance hit man might finally be prosecuted. "I don't think the blood on the table is the victim's. the body is too far away from the table for him to have walked that far with the wounds I saw. I'm inclined...well, that's your department. I'll get a type for each of these bloodstains as soon as we can. I'll call Susie right now to start on that as soon as she gets the samples. Typing doesn't take long."

"Can you ask her to start a DNA panel while you're at it?"

"Your wish is my command."

"Don't _I_ wish."

Turning away from the others, Maura sticks out her tongue.

Jane laughs.


	5. Chapter 4 Confidence Part 2

**Blown**

**Chapter 4: Confidence Part 2**

A/N: The ladies deal with disappointment, and take a little time off after the working day. A little sciency-stuff, and then...Warning! Smut dead ahead! Enjoy.

Every cop knows it: an hour at the crime scene means four hours of paperwork.

Minimum.

It was all electronic, of course. But that was worse. When she was a beat cop, she did it all on paper. Pen and paper. Scratch and scribble. Now she hardly handles a pen at all. Instead, her eyes dry out, her legs cramp from sitting still so long. She painstakingly transcibes her notes, combines them with Frost's and Korsak's, generates a composite report. All the minutiae that could outline a crime.

And all Jane wanted to do was have a paper page, so she could scrawl _Gravcik,_ in eight inch-high letters, diagonally across it.

Their two-hour sojourn at the Lithuanian Club this morning added up to a ten-hour day, plus. By six-thirty her computer screen was bobbing back and forth in front of her. She fought to keep her eyes open and her head off the desk. Her head _was_ on the desk. Soft fingers stroked her hair. Someone kissed her ear. _Maura_...

"Jane. Wake up. Time to go home."

"Huh...Maura...what..."

"We're done here, love. Come on. Cold beer and a hot bath." Maura gently gets Jane out of her chair, throws Jane's jacket over her arm, leads her to the elevator. By the time they got to the garage, Jane is awake, and Maura can give her the bad news.

Maura starts the car. As she pulls out of the space she braces for Jane's reaction.

"We got the typing results for the blood at the scene."

"Oh, yeah? And..."

"The victim is B-negative."

"that doesn't really make my day, Maura."

"Well...the blood on the table and the trail are A-positive."

"What's that...oh. Shit."

"Gravcik's type is O-positive. The blood at the scene...it can't be Gravcik's."

"Shit. Shit."

######

When Jane moved in, Maura welcomed her by renovating the master bath. It took a month, during which they were using the guest bath. But it was worth it – a spa tub big enough for the both of them, places to put drinks, a sound system, candle sconces. One of those showers that you needed an engineering degree to operate, and other amenities. At Jane's request, the tub was fire-engine red.

She was kind of uneasy about the money Maura had spent, but she'd learned by now that when Maura spent money "frivolously", it wasn't frivolous. It was for fun.

And by god, they had a right to some fun in their lives.

So now Jane lay in scalding hot water, suds up over her tits, Her head against Maura who sat against the slope of the tub, Maura's hair up loosely, while she works her fingers through Jane's scalp, gently massaging. Maura's legs are around her hips, over her thighs. She is so close to Maura, he body against Maura's body, and the desire she always feels for Maura is just offstage, waiting to break out. Jane reaches to the shelf between the tub and the wall, retrieves her beer, takes a swallow.

_How amazing Maura is. She provides me with things I never knew I wanted. _

She tosses over her shoulder, "Have I told you how amazing you are?"

Maura doesn't reply; she sinks her fingers in deeper. Jane moans as Maura massages her scalp. Then, as Maura starts kneading her shoulders, Jane does something she's never done with anyone else.

She purrs. Maura smiles with pride and satisfaction.

Her cop brain makes an insistent appearance. "Refresh my memory. Why is that blood _not_ Gravcik's?"

"Can't I get your mind away from work for a minute?"

"I try, Maura. But I get compulsive working a case. You know that."

"I do know that. But it can't be good for you."

"Baby...there are two things in this world that make me feel alive. There's my work...and there's _you_. I'm just glad I don't have to choose between them. I can keep my work life and my love life in balance. I love you more than anything in the world. But I love my work, too. I...I hope that's okay."

"Yes, it's okay. I feel the same way. I just don't want you obsessing about work to the point that it makes you sick."

"I won't." She puts the empty bottle on the shelf, rolls over in the water, letting the warmth soothe her muscles, and ends up cuddled in Maura's arms. She stretches up, kisses Maura. It is sweet, it is delicious, it is arousing. _Wait..._ "Okay, tell me about blood types."

Maura sighs again. "All right. Your blood cells have proteins on the outside. If we put blood cells with proteins on them that aren't yours into you, antibodies in your blood attack them. And antibodies in the blood we give you attacks your cells. So a blood transfusion with incompatible blood cells is dangerous. See?"

"So far."

"Okay, there are two different proteins in humans. There's A, and B. So you cells can have just A – you inherited two A's, one from each parent, or just B. Or you can have one of each. That's type AB. Or you can have neither. That's type O. A person who gets an A from one parent and an O from another is type A. Same for an OB person – they're type B." Maura was deliberately trying to make it simple and _not_ boring, and Jane thought she was succeeding. She was actually understanding this, better than in the biology class she took in junior college. It helps, this having a smart girlfriend.

"Okay." Jane is going to work with Maura here. "So if someone, like Gravcik, is type O, they don't have the A or B protein. So if the blood we tested is type A, that means that person has at least one A from a parent, and they couldn't be O, because to be O they couldn't have anything. So it rules out Gravcik as a suspect."

"Yes!" Maura pats Jane affectionately.

"I remember. I felt so dumb the first time we learned that. It just didn't make sense."

"You're a very intelligent person, Jane. You understand so many things without anyone teaching you. You just...get it."

Jane shrugs, dismissing the compliment. "Well, it's Gravcik's MO to a T. Let's see if we get a hit on the DNA. Somebody who's copying Gravcik might lead us to him."

"You'll get him, Jane. You will."

Maura kisses the top of Jane's head, and strokes down her arm; water drops on Jane's olive skin glisten like diamonds in the candlelight. Jane turns, rises, searches Maura's candlelit face. She wears no makeup, her hair is only partially bound up; the stray strands, and the slight, fresh flush from the heat of the tub, give her a waif-like appearance, an innocence that almost breaks Jane's heart. Jane is overwhelmed by the urge to hold her, protect her, make her feel loved; and in this moment, she can.

Jane takes Maura in her arms, completely sheltering her, and at the same time covering her face and throat with kisses, gentle now, but destined to become stronger, more filled with fire. Jane strokes her lover's back; the soapy water has made them slippery as seals, and Jane finds the slickness of Maura's skin against her own incredibly arousing, evoking the memory of other slickness, the wetness of complete passion. She feels it, between her thighs, in spite of the warm water.

They are pre-born, wholly new, making love in the original water of life.

Maura closes with a passionate kiss, urgent and needy, exactly what Jane hopes for. She wants Maura to need her, to take from her what she has to give, without supplication. Maura presses her body against Jane, _into_ Jane, so that nothing remains between them, there is no separation. Maura slides her hand into that not-space and cups Jane's breast; she strokes the nipple with her palm, and is electrified to feel it harden. Jane gasps, then utters a low, protracted moan.

Jane lifts Maura, a little, and takes her nipple into her mouth, her lips on Maura's ample breast, sucking, teasing with her tongue, until Maura is a wreck, aware of nothing except her own driving need for release. She groans Jane's name, and now it _is_ supplication, it is _begging..._"Please, please, Jane, love, touch me, yes, right there..."

Jane reaches down, finds Maura's firm folds, slick with Maura's own wetness, strokes gently. Maura clenches her teeth, moans through them; she wants more. Jane slides her fingers inside, begins a rhythm; Maura falls into it, moving her body to the timing of Jane's thrusts, starting waves in the water. Her eyes are closed as she becomes wholly absorbed in what Jane is doing to her.

"Open your eyes, Maura. Look at me."

Her lids lift off of eyes that are completely black. Seeing Jane, seeing the passion Jane has in her eyes for what she is doing drives Maura up, up, and she _screams_, she's not afraid to scream now, to voice the explosion raging inside her. Fire, up and down her spine, every muscle contracts and pure liquid pleasure fills her up. And then it subsides, leaving glorious exhaustion.

They cling to each other, time forgotten, the warmth of the water an echo of the glow inside them. Until Maura stirs and pushes Jane away, gently. She says, "Sit up here." She pats the wide rim of the tub, made for just this purpose – to sit on and dangle one's feet in the water. Or, as now, something more intimate. Maura admires Jane's body shamelessly, the lean, strong, yet feminine form. Jane could have been a model, or an athlete. Maura is profoundly grateful to a non-existent Fate that Jane is here, and is hers.

Maura positions herself between Jane's legs; the depth of the tub is just right, her face is at the same level as Jane's center. Maura kisses the inside of Jane's thighs, her tongue flicking against the skin with each kiss. Jane watches every move; it's exciting just to see Maura, Maura _Goddess_ Isles, loving her this way. Part of the excitement is the knowing that Maura _loves_ her, that despite everything Jane despises about herself, Maura _loves_ her and wants to make love to her. That is so amazing that realizing it is like an orgasm in itself.

Maura is kissing, licking Jane's folds, and her lips fasten on Jane's clit, sucking gently, flicking it with the tip of her tongue, playing Jane like a fine instrument. Jane responds, as the erotic energy flies through her body, with little gasps and low growls. Maura can tell when Jane is ready. At just the right pitch, Maura uses her fingers, two inside, then, after Jane has time to adjust, a third, and Jane's moans morph into cries, mostly Maura's name. Such power! Maura won't misuse it; she uses her mouth and fingers deftly, quickly, forcing Jane to the edge and beyond. Jane throws her head back, panting Maura's name, struggling to support herself on the ledge as her bones dissolve into jelly. But Maura won't let her down. She slows, making her touches feather-light; then, when the intensity fades, brings Jane back up again, to a second orgasm, as good as the first. Maura is almost ready to give it another go, but Jane puts her hand on Maura's head, begging her to stop. "I'm done, honey. No more. I can't take it."

Jane slides smoothly, like an eel, back into the tub. They twine about each other. They are both spent; this is the time when Jane feels the joy of being in love, when she most believes in the permanence of what they have. When she understands poetry. She knows that sex isn't the totality of their lives together; but she knows that without the bond they have formed, there would be no sex. They are incapable of sex without meaning. Not with each other.

They'll get up, dry off, have supper sometime soon. But it doesn't have to be now. Nothing has to be now. This – Maura's flesh and her flesh, together – is all there need be.


	6. Chapter 4 Confidence Part 3

**Blown**

**Chapter 4: Confidence Part 3**

**A/N: Things fall apart. The center does not hold.**

She feels light, giddy, goofy, slightly intoxicated, as if the _gigantesco _coffee she'd just had was about ninety proof. Maura does that to her. Every morning, it seems. Every morning, they stop for coffee, they sit in Maura's office to drink their coffee and be together for as long as that takes before beginning their working day. And every morning Jane comes to the bullpen happily drunk, high on Maura and her intoxicating loveliness.

She sits at her desk, flips on her computer. She's early; these days she always is. Pre-Maura, her worst work habit was that she was chronically late; Jane was never an early riser. Post-Maura, and now Jane is up early, goes for dawn runs, is in a _good_ mood. The coffee is now more a ritual than a medicinal necessity; waking up next to Maura, especially after a night like last night, is the best stimulant ever. _I'm thirty-seven and I feel like I'm seventeen. It's like being in love for the first time._ She pauses at the thought. _Maybe it is the first time. Maybe I want it to be the last time, too._

It's a good thing she arrives before her colleagues; she wouldn't want to compromise her surly reputation.

That isn't hard, though, as they review what they know about the case. Gravcik's MO. Blood at the scene that isn't his. No prints. No other identifying evidence. CSRU finds three sets of tire tracks in the back alley; one is the cook's van; one is an abandoned car, still in the alley, stolen at about four a.m. that morning from an apartment lot across town. Third set, no ID as yet. A puzzle: Did Gravcik arrive in the first stolen car, and then steal another car nearby? No prints in the car. No prints in the cook's van that aren't the cook's.

As she processes the evidence, and compares it with her detective's instincts – what Maura calls "thinking with her viscera"—they don't add up. Either the evidence isn't telling the whole story, she's wrong about recognizing Gravcik's style, or there's another killer out there who knows Gravcik's MO so well that they're indistinguishable.

Her good mood is being buried under a pile of frustration.

She sums up the source of that pile to Frost, as they suck down the bullpen coffee (simple as a source of caffeine, not for any gourmet relish): "This scumbag has been out there killing with impunity for years. He's a machine. And he's probably building a bank account in some country we can't trace, and when it gets big enough he'll retire under an assumed name to some banana republic with no extradition and nobody'll ever see him again. He'll just drop off the planet."

"And we have no idea how many more victims there'll be."

"That's just the thing. All right – what do we know about this victim? His name was..." Jane looks at her notes, "...Marijus Zygas, He was a cook, he was fifty-two, he was here legally, and he was divorced. More?"

"Yean, he was making regular deposits, a few grand at a time, four different banks, about twice a month. Hardly ever missed a month. A few withdrawals, but not many and not much."

"Drugs? Through the club?"

"Maybe."

"Or maybe he was taking bets. A one-man book shop."

"Either way he could have pissed off somebody."

Jane taps her teeth with a pencil. "Yeah...enough to take out a contract on him." Her phone buzzes.

"Maura says DNA is ready. I'll go down."

"Need me with you?"

"Nah. See if you can get something from that member's list. Set up some interviews. Maybe we can pin down what our vic was into that got him shanked. I'll be back."

Frost grins. "Take your time, Jane."

######

The lightbox casts Maura's face in silhouette. She stares morosely at the X-ray film that shows the DNA patterns, hoping against hope that she can give Jane something good. Normally she would simply examine the scanned electronic display of the DNA gels; it is a measure of her desperation that she has demanded the original radiographs to try and dissect the patterns. But by the time Jane comes down there is only one conclusion she can present.

Jane comes in and immediately _knows_ something is amiss.

"Good grief, Maura. Who died?"

"Why..no one that I know of. Unless you mean him." She gestures toward the autopsy table, where yesterday's victim still lies.

"No, I mean...you look awful. So...sad. What's wrong?"

"You're not going to like this."

"I don't like it already. C'mon, spill it. You said we had a DNA result."

"Jane, I've been over it and over it and over it and I can only...fuck!"

"Jesus, Maura, it must be really bad if you're using that kind of language outside of bed."

Maura takes a deep breath. "All right. The blood DNA is contaminated."

"_What?"_

"That's all I can make of it. Look here." She gestures to the large screen next to the lightbox, where the scanned DNA pattern is displayed in columns of bright horizontal bars, almost a photographic negative of the radiographic patterns of black bars on the gray film.

"Look at all these doublets." She points to pairs of bars, very close to each other, with almost no separation between them. "There shouldn't be this many in a normal sample. They mean that there are fragments that are almost the same, but not quite. It's called restriction fragment length polymorphism, or RFLP, and it's what we use to distinguish one person's DNA from another. But in an uncontaminated sample, most fragments would only appear once, there'd be only one size. We can match that set of fragments to a known set, say of a suspect's DNA. But here we've got many, many pairs of fragments, each of the same basic fragment of DNA but with minor idiopathic variations."

"Wait...idiot...what?" Jane just lets Maura run down, knowing – hoping – that she'll translate this jabber into English eventually.

"Idiopathic. Individuals have small differences in their DNA sequences. Each person's DNA is different. That's why it's such a powerful forensic tool. But the integrity of this sample has been compromised."

"How the hell did that happen?" Jane's voice is a little louder than a professional consultation would warrant.

Maura breathed, trying not to react to Jane's accusatory tone. "Several ways. Which we guard against. You know we keep samples available to run against evidence samples. Just to be sure one of us didn't contaminate the sample. See these columns here? That's me – MDI – that one's Susie, the rest are the techs who processed or handled the sample. None of them match."

"So how did this..."

"The sample could have been degraded. Improper packaging and storage could account for that. But our people are very experienced, Jane. They know how to process a sample, from the scene to the lab. We do this all the time."

"Well, somebody fucked up somewhere."

Maura begins to get defensive, and not a little bit territorial. "I can assure you, no one fucked up. I trained most of these people. Susie is the best Chief Criminalist in the business. She runs a tight ship in that crime lab. I know exactly what's going on, and we took special care with this analysis because we knew how important it was!" She pauses, her eyes soften, she lowers her voice. "I knew how important it was to you."

Jane isn't mollified. All the hope she had, the satisfaction that they were finally on Gravcik's trail, even through a copycat or apprentice, was falling apart. "So you're saying we got nothing!"

"Grammar aside, I'm afraid you're right! The forensic evidence is inconclusive. There were no fibers, foreign objects, or tissue from the attacker on the body. The stab wounds were sharp and clean. Any narrow bladed object could have made them, as well as the throat and face slashes."

"Shit!" Jane slams her hand on the counter. Maura jumps in surprise. Jane points an accusing finger at Maura. "I have no idea what you people think you're doing down here, but I need evidence, we need to arrest this fucker and convict him before he kills somebody else! And I'm getting no help from you!"

"Jane! You have no..."

Jane throws her hand up, waves Maura's protest away before it can be made, and storms out of the lab. She tosses one last expletive over her shoulder as she slams through the doors.

"Son of a _bitch_!"

Maura stands there with one hand on the back of her neck, the other on her hip.

She will not cry at work.

It's so unprofessional.

######

_Why the fuck did I do that?_

Jane sits in her desk chair, her knee up against her chin, her heels on the edge of the chair. She sits in a ball, a protective huddle like a threatened hedgehog, her verbal barbs fair warning that anybody near her should be wary.

And she feels sick. Disoriented. And incredibly stupid.

_I ripped Maura a new one. Like she was some rookie. Like I didn't even know her._

_What the hell happened to me?_

_Or is it the old me, the dark me, the me that shot Hoyt, that stabbed him to death, the me that I still put on in the box with a suspect, the me that put three rounds into Cutthroat, the me that put a bullet through my own guts? Is she back again?_

_Darkness is darkness, whatever side of the line you're on._

_This case – this killer – is getting to me._

_They say you better understand your enemy, because that's who you get to be the most like._

_Gravcik – he points at a target, and goes after them, no compassion, no remorse._

_Is that what I just did? I went after Maura because my job is all that matters? No compassion, no remorse? No...love?_

_Christ, I hope not._

_The things I was saying to her last night, in the tub, before we...I said I could balance work and...and her. _

_But I'm not._

_I've got to get out of here. Before I shoot Frost or Korsak for saying hello._

She grabs her case files, tells Cavanaugh she's taking sick time this afternoon, and, with no further explanation, leaves.

######

Jane is sitting cross-legged on the couch, a file open on her lap, others spread in the coffee table, beer bottle at hand. She tried doing this at the Robber, but it was too damned noisy. She thought about working in the guest house, but Ma would be so full of questions ("_Are you fighting with Maura? After all you put me through finding out you two were together...yadda yadda yadda...)_ that she'd never get anything done. So home it is. Maura or no Maura.

The downside of living with your girlfriend: there's really no place to get away from her when you fight.

The sound of the garage door opening; feet scraping on the mat; the jingle of keys and footsteps all announce Maura's arrival. She takes an inordinately long time entering, hanging up her coat, depositing her briefcase and instrument bag in her small study; she finally comes into the living room. Jane refuses to meet her eyes. She is sorry, but she's still mad.

Maura stands with her hands on her hips. "I'm surprised you're here."

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"I'd have thought you'd still be at work. Pursuing the case. The case that _I fucked up_, to use your..."

"Look Maura, I'm sorry..."

""Sorry? Is that it? Sorry that you impugned my professionalism? Than you attacked my competence, and the people who work under me? Do you realize just how hurtful you were? I'll roll over for a lot of the things you dish out, Jane, but I will not sit still for this! I'm just as much..."

"Hey, I'm trying..."

"...dedicated to my work as you are, and I have a right to resent..."

"..to apologize here! I'm upset that we don't have the evidence.."

"...you or anybody else implying that I'm not good enough at it...

" ...that we can take..."

"...to be trusted! We have an excellent..."

"...What? I do trust you, I do trust your work, but everybody..."

...record! The data is what it is! That's not going to change..."

"...makes mistakes, and maybe you should just..."

...no matter how much wishful thinking you indulge in!"

"...admit that maybe you did!"

Breathe. They both stop to breathe and the walls stop vibrating at the strident voices. Both on their feet, bodies bent in threat pose, hands extended in frustration that words aren't enough. Maura takes up the gauntlet.

"Is that what you think? It's a mistake?"

Jane tries to tone it down. "Well, yeah. It happens."

Maura advances menacingly. "No! No it does not. Ninety-nine percent of what we do is to _prevent_ mistakes! _We can't afford to make mistakes!"_

"Well, that's pretty arrogant!"

"Arrogant! And I suppose your telling me how to do my job isn't arrogant!"

"What are you trying to say, Maura? That I'm to dumb to understand your work?"

"That you don't have my training and..."

"That I'm not a genius, so please just run along and let me do my sciency thing, don't question anything, you're just the dumb cop..."

"I don't think that! I've never had that internal monologue!"

"Well, you obviously don't respect a little constructive criticism..."

"Constructive! What was constructive about anything you said!'

"I'm just trying to get you to listen..."

"Listen to _what?_ What can I learn..."

Maura stops, her expression changes instantly. From tearful anger to...blankness. She runs back to the mudroom, grabs her purse and her coat.

Jane stops in mid-breath. "What? Get the hell back here! You can't just run out! Where do you think you're going?"

"To work! Just...leave me alone!"

The garage opens, the car starts, and Maura is gone.


	7. Chapter 7 Confidence Part 4

**Chapter 4: Confidence Part 4**

**A/N: The home stretch, folks. Thanks for staying with me so far. This isn't the end of the Blown universe; but I may take a break while I work on other things. Tell me what you think – reviews are as good as chocolates (better, actually – not fattening!) And maybe make suggestions about where this should go next.**

Maura is gone all night.

She doesn't pick up when Jane calls. Twice.

On the third try, Maura answers, but before Jane can say anything, Maura cuts her off. "I can't talk to you right now. No, that's not true. I _won't_ talk to you right now. I'll call you when I'm ready."

Jane whispers into the phone. "When will that be?"

"Not too much longer. Later tonight. I'll call you. Get some sleep. Just keep your phone by the bed."

"Maura, I'm sorry."

"We'll talk about it later. I have to go now."

"Maura, just tell me – where are you? Are you safe, are you okay?"

"I'm at work. I'm fine. Please, don't come down here. I'm busy in the lab. I'll call you, okay?"

Okay. I guess. But...it's midnight..."

"I'm fine. Really. 'Bye."

"Bye. I love you."

Maura hangs up.

#####

Jane lies in a cold bed, not sleeping.

_You are the champion asshole of all time._

_That woman is the best thing that ever happened in your entire sorry life._

_You need to give your ego a rest or you are going to fuck this up royally. _

_As if you haven't done that already._

_But she _did_ make a mistake._

_And it cost us big time._

_Are you sure?_

And back to the top of the loop; it's like one of those video clips that runs and runs and runs, over and over again, snapping her mind back to the same miserable place.

All fucking night long.

Finally, as Jane is about to completely exhaust her last ounce of nervous energy, the phone rings.

It's Maura, but it isn't a call; it's a text.

_Come down to the crime lab now._

Jane texts back, _Now? It's 4 am_, but her phone informs her that the recipient is not accepting messages. Maura must have turned her phone off as soon as she sent the message.

_I guess she doesn't want to argue. Might as well dress for work and stay down there._

She drags herself out of bed. She dresses in her standard charcoal gray suit, but she puts on that aquamarine satin blouse that Maura gave her, and that according to Maura sets off Jane's skin tone. She picks up her wallet, keys, badge and gun, and gets ready for a heavy-lidded, ass-dragging workday after a sleepless night.

######

She doesn't know the desk trooper at the front entrance; they usually give rookies this graveyard shift duty. She has coffee in a paper tray, two cups, from the all-night dive near the station. She rides down.

The lights are on in the morgue and the lab. As she comes in, Maura holds up her hand, telling her to not come in. "Leave the coffee outside, Jane. You know there's no food or drink in the lab."

"It'll get cold."

"We'll get more later. This is important."

"Okay. Show me."

Maura turns her attention to a large display screen that shows a DNA profile. It looks familiar.

"Remember this?"

Jane taps her teeth with a fingernail. "Yeah, that's the DNA from the blood we found at the crime scene. The contaminated one."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Look at this." She mouses over the profile, and taps a couple of keys. Bright bands sort themselves out from the sequence and line up to form a second profile, next to the first.

'What the hell..."

Maura taps another key, reverses the process, restoring the original profile. "Remember those doublets? That's why I thought the original sample was contaminated. No normal human DNA could have that many allelic variants in one person. So I took the profile and played with it. I sorted through it and separated anything that looked like an anomaly, sorted them into a new profile. And this is what I get." Another keystroke, and there are two profiles.

"So...what does that mean? Short words, Maura. My brain isn't exactly firing on all cylinders right now."

For the first time in many hours, Jane sees Maura smile. "It means that, to a high probability, that blood came from two different people."

"But...the blood type. There was only one type. A-positive."

Maura's smile became wider. "Yes, it typed out that way. But remember that O type blood has no A proteins in it. So O-type blood, from one person, and A-type blood, from another, would, if typed as a mix, comes up as type A. Two different people, one type result."

Jane mutters, almost reverently, "Son of a bitch."

"So who's blood is it? Can you tell?"

Maura taps more keys, and a third profile appears on the screen. "Not conclusively. Not enough to be used in court. But...that..." She points to the new profile "...is the DNA profile of Anders Gravcik. It's about an 85% match to the profile from the blood on the left. It's not close enough to be evidence, probably because I made some wrong guesses about which bands to sort where. But it tells you – and me – that Gravcik was at the scene, he was injured enough to leave a fair amount of blood. It might be enough to get an arrest warrant and bring him in for questioning, at least."

"If we can find him. I'll put out a fresh BOLO on him. Who's the other one?"

Maura shakes her head. "I have no idea. There's no match in any of our databases. That may be because it's reconstructed, and may not match anyone at all. We'll probably never know. I sent all this data to Quantico, see if the FBI can do anything with it. They have much more sophisticated analysis software, and access to many more databases, than we do. I doubt they'll find anything, but it's worth a try."

Jane sits on a high stool, her elbow on the lab bench, her chin resting in her hand. She looks at the screen; looks at Maura; looks at the screen. She stares off a thousand yards, saying nothing, not meeting the other woman's eyes.

Maura waits.

Jane, eyes on the minute detail of the benchtop, murmurs, "I guess it wasn't a mistake, then."

Maura's voice was soft. "Not in procedure or approach. We did everything by the book. We just didn't consider an unlikely situation that skewed the way we interpreted the evidence."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"What do you mean, for what?"

"That Gravcik slipped away from us, or for accusing me of incompetence?"

"Well...both, I guess."

"We lose suspects all the time, Jane. We can only go as far as the evidence takes us. We have to show guilt beyond reasonable doubt – that's very hard to do. I'm sorry about that part, too."

Jane raises her eyes and the depth of them is filled with sorrow.

"I doubted you. I wanted the case to fall out a certain way, and when it didn't I made it your fault. I'm so sorry. Really."

"I believe you. And I know how hard it was for you to make that apology."

"It's important for me to be right. It's important to close cases with the right guy in custody. It's what I do; I guess it kind of defines me. Sure, I shrug it off when anyone says it, but I'm _proud_ of having the best closure rate on the force." Jane buries her face in her hands. "I think my pride got in the way of my thinking."

"I am too. Proud of you, that is. I'm proud and pleased that we work together so well. But you don't see how proud I am of my own work, also. That I, my people, go to great lengths to make sure we do the best job that can be done so that you can do what you do. And being your...girlfriend doesn't make that any less important."

"What are you saying, Maura?"

"That I believe you were angry with me because you felt it was your right, because we're so close. Because you see the personal me, the woman you love, far more now than the professional person you knew when we first met."

"That's not..."

"Do you respect me less, as Medical Examiner, the more you know my heart, the human person I really am? Do you feel that you can take liberties, that my professional persona is as open to your manipulation as I am at home, in bed?"

There was a tinge of anger in Jane's voice. "Manipulation? I don't manipulate you."

Maura grinned, a conspiratorial smirk. "Sure you do. And I manipulate you. I seduce you, you seduce me. I do things you'll like, so you'll like me. You do the same things. It's an endless game, but winning it means the other person gets something they want, or maybe they don't know they want. We're friends, lovers...we play with each other. Don't we?"

Jane was meditative. "Hmmmm...I guess. You seem to be learning a lot about human relationships."

"And I have you to thank for that, Jane. Without you I'd be just as clueless and awkward as I was when we first met. I've grown under your tutelage.

"But that doesn't answer the question. Do you have less respect for me, now, professionally, than when we were just friends? Does knowing me so intimately compromise your ability to rely on my findings as a pathologist, as a scientist?"

Jane considers, remains silent for several minutes. Maura is patient. "Let me ask you this first. Does being my lover make you treat my work more severely that you would that of anyone else?"

"I'm not sure I understand, Jane."

"Do you...do you bend over backwards to _not_ favor me when you're considering evidence, because we're lovers? So you don't appear biased?"

"I see. In all honesty, and no immodesty intended – no. I and my staff make the same effort to provide you with accurate data as we do all the other detectives. That is, the maximum we can reach. I don't give your cases any special treatment.

"I love you, Jane. But I won't go out of my way to favor you in any manner, in my work. You're another detective who needs as much accurate evidence as I can provide. That's all. But that's a lot – that's my entire purpose here."

Jane is silent for a while, again. Then, she says, "Maybe I kind of expected that you would."

"I would what?"

"Cut me a break. Pull a rabbit out of your science hat that'd give me what I need to get Gravcik. I wish I understood what you do better than I do."

"That's why I'm here. I've put a lot of time and effort in learning all aspects of this work – just as you have in learning your craft. I'm not a detective; you're not a forensic specialist. Together we make a great team. But we have to rely on each other's honesty, impartiality, justice. What we know of each other, the way we treat each other in our personal lives, can't be the way we operate here."

"We have to guard against that."

"All the time."

"I will. I promise. And to answer your question, I do respect you. As much now as I did then. I just...forget, sometimes. Sometimes I want something so much I can't imagine it happening any other way. That's a bad way for a detective to think. I need to be more careful about that."

"I know you will. You're getting better at not jumping to unwarranted conclusions."

"And I learned that from you."

Maura comes closer to Jane, reaches her arm around Jane's waist. Jane pulls her in, for a soft kiss that contains forgiveness and promise.

"Breakfast?"

"The café doesn't open till seven. See you then?"

"Sure."

######

"...So, Gravcik and the vic weren't the only ones there?"

Jane flips a photo of the DNA profiles to Frost. "Maura say the evidence points to it. Let's see if we can reconstruct this." Jane steps up to the murder board, to the sketch plan of the crime scene drawn in marker. "The cook comes in, dumps his armload of groceries." Jane draws a blue dotted line from the door to the table. "Gravcik's waiting in a car outside."

"The stolen car that was still there." Frost points to the sketch.

"Yeah...so, he slips in..." Frost draws a red line from the car to the table, "...stabs the cook, who goes down, rolls the body, slits the throat and the face. That might take..."

"For a pro like Gravcik, less than a minute." Jane picks up a green marker. And now Mr. Mystery Man, whose car has pulled up as Gravcik was killing the cook..."

"...the third set of tire tracks!"

"Yeah. He comes in the door, but Gravcik isn't surprised. They struggle against the table, they're both hurt." Jane draws these actions in green. "Then..."

"They both leave? In the same car? That doesn't make sense."

"Unless Gravcik killed Mr. Mystery and didn't want to leave the body at the scene?"

Jane folds her arms across her chest. "Why would...unless...My. Mystery hurts Gravcik, and hauls him away. Hmmm."

"Why would he do that?"

"Gravcik's got a lot of enemies. Somebody wants him alive, maybe."

"So what do we do now?"

Jane creased her forehead. "Wait for the FBI. Maybe they can identify Mr. Mystery from Maura's reconstruction of his DNA. Other than that, I don't know. We really don't have any leads."

"Maybe we can figure out who paid Gravcik. We've got that coded notebook we found in the cook's apartment; once we crack that we'll know who his gambling clients were, maybe. Or drug customers."

"Thin, Frost. But let's keep on it. We'll find something."

######

Three weeks later, Jane, Frost, Korsak, and Maura are summoned by Cavanaugh to the small conference room off the bullpen. As Jane enters, she's greeted by a familiar voice.

"Hello, Jane."

"Agent Dean. What're you doing here?" Jane's tone is clearly hostile.

"Helping you close a case." Dean is as disheveled as ever, and maybe looks like he's aged in the job more than is good for him.

"You can help by going back to DC. Or Afghanistan, or wherever."

"C'mon, Jane."

"C'mon, wha..." Maura comes into the room. She glares at Dean with open dislike. She circles Jane's waist with her arm, and kisses her in front of Dean and everybody. They've been out at work for months; everybody understands and, in fact, are very encouraging.

Cavanaugh says, with a lopsided smile, "Detective, we've talked about that stuff during working hours. Dr. Isles. Please."

Maura wiggles. "Sorry, Lieutenant." She takes a seat next to Jane. Dean appears to have been hit with a hammer; he stares, says nothing. Jane and Maura wear identical smirks.

Cavanaugh turns the meeting over to Dean. "A couple of weeks ago Dr. Isles sent the FBI lab a partial DNA profile of an unknown suspect. We identified several possible candidates and circulated their names through Interpol, as most of them had histories outside the US. We were then contacted by the Lithuanian Embassy, asking for details of the case. To explain further, I'll introduce Col. Karolis Padziurskas, security attaché to the Lithuanian Embassy."

Col. Padziurskas is a short, slight, sandy-haired man of about forty, with a pencil-thin mustache, glasses, and a very clipped way of speaking. His English is excellent and almost accentless. "This is less of an explanation than it is a courtesy. We wish to assure the Boston Police that they need not conduct any further search for Anders Gravcik."

Jane speaks up. "What happened to him? Is he dead?"

The colonel gives Jane a watery, mirthless smile. "All I am permitted to say is that Mr. Gravcik is currently in the custody of the Lithuanian government. He is to be indicted and tried for crimes committed against the sovereign people of Lithuania."

"And what about our murders? We have him on at least six, maybe seven murders in Boston alone!" Maura gently places her hand on Jane's forearm.

In his precise, chillingly academic way, the colonel said "Lithuania has full extradition agreements with the Government of the United States. Instrumental to those agreements is the provision that crimes committed in a foreign jurisdiction are secondary to offenses in the home country. If and when Mr. Gravcik has been released by a court, or has served his full sentence, he will be extradited to those jurisdictions where he is wanted."

"Do you know who the partial DNA profile belongs to?", Maura asks.

The colonel smiles again, this time (to Jane's eyes) flirtatiously. "I do."

Maura, impatient, asks, "who is it?"

"I'm not at liberty to say." The colonel is now impassive,

Korsak mutters, "We'll never see Gravcik again."

Cavanaugh says, "That's it, people. Gravcik's cases are closed. Thanks for all your hard work."

As the meeting breaks up, Dean comes up to Jane. Maura is right behind her.

"I thought maybe we could go get a drink." Dean looks at Jane with hopeful anticipation.

Jane raises an eyebrow. "Ahhh...no."

Maura links her arm with Jane's. "Actually we have a date tonight." Her smile is many things, but not sincere.

Dean persists. "Well, I'm in town for a few days. How about some night this week? I think we need to talk, Jane."

Jane points a finger at Dean. "No, we don't. You just don't get it, do you?"

Maura says, in the most saccharine way possible, "We have a date that night, too."

"What night?" Dean asks with exasperation.

"Pick a night, we'll have a date. Jane and I." Dean can almost see her fangs emerge.

Jane puts her arm around Maura, who snuggles in. "Have a good trip back, Dean."

Dean finally retreats. "Fine. Nice seein' you, Jane."

Jane just nods, watches him shamble away.

Jane smiles at Maura. "Could anybody be more clueless?"

"I'm glad I was here. I didn't want you to shoot him."

"Yeah, you did."

"Okay. I didn't want you to get arrested."

"Okay, so where are we going?"

"Going?" Maura raises her face to Jane's.

"On our date. It was your idea."

"Hmm. How about a hot tub and Pad Thai?"

"Hmm. I approve." Jane looks over her shoulder; Cavanaugh is gone. She plants a soft kiss on Maura's lips. "I love you, googlemouth."

"I love you, gumshoe. Let's go home."

-FIN-


End file.
